


Ew

by yeaka



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 10:11:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2688962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus accidentally scars himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ew

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This isn't historically accurate. Set post-film.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Eagle or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

When Esca stretches his legs amidst a yawn, there’s room to trace the width of the bed without interference. That isn’t right for a Roman bed, not one meant to be filled with two people. He imagines Marcus must be visiting the latrines or fetching water (now that he has no slave to do it for him) or something of the like. Esca buries his face in the pillow and decides he’ll drift off until his lover’s back, exercising luxury for the sake of it. 

But he’s barely had time to close his eyes again when the door swings open, the harried footsteps he’s come to recognize (subtle limp and all) trailing across the tile floor. Esca blinks at the door and the haze of Marcus heading for him, then rubs his eyes and lets out another yawn. 

When he gets his eyes back open, clear in the early morning light through the cutout designs in the veranda doors, Marcus is already turning. He plunks down on the edge of the bed, back to Esca, like he’s going to untie his sandals and get back under the sheets. 

But he doesn’t. He sits there, all big, broad shoulders and smooth muscles beneath his brown tunic, staring off in the wrong direction. Esca waits for him to say something, explain his absence or his silence, but nothing comes, and it gives Esca the undeniable feeling that something’s very _wrong._

“What is it?”

There is no answer. Frowning, Esca scrunches down the sheets and pushes himself up. Marcus must feel and hear the mattress creaking, but still, he says nothing. Esca asks, unsure, “Marcus?”

Marcus says dully, “I went to fetch water.”

There is no water. It isn’t like Marcus not to bring any back; now that Esca’s free, and even a few times before that, Marcus has always doted on Esca. Starting to really worry, Esca crawls forward, right up behind Marcus, and he loops a thin arm around Marcus’ thick waist, head reaching over Marcus’ shoulder to press a hard kiss to Marcus’ cheek—he always melts for Esca’s love—but today Marcus yelps like he’s been burned and pulls away. Esca stares at him as he totters up to his feet, spins around with wide eyes, swears under his breath and says, “I’m sorry. Sorry.” He runs a shaky hand up through his dark hair and shudders, face wincing. Over Esca trying to kiss him. Confusion doesn’t even begin to describe Esca’s feelings, and pain twists his gut. Marcus spent so long _staring_ at him, so full of adoration and lust, and Marcus has _never_ pulled away from him before; Marcus is always easy to catch and eager to be held. Now he paces around the bed and plunks back down on the end of it, shaking his head. 

He mutters, “None of that now.” And it’s small but an order. 

Esca never takes orders well. A part of him wants to throw the blankets in Marcus’ face and storm out, stubborn Romans and their nonsense, but he has no where to go that isn’t in Marcus’ arms. So he crawls to the end of the bed and asks just as firmly, “Why _not_?”

“Because,” Marcus grunts, looking disgruntled and mildly horrified, and he keeps glancing over his shoulder at Esca then looking away, “because I can’t stop _picturing_ it.”

“Picturing _what_?”

For a moment, Marcus dons a haunted look, like he couldn’t possibly repeat such vile tales, but then he blurts, all at once, “My uncle and Stephanos! I happened to walk by my uncle’s chambers, and the door was left wide open, and they were on the floor, and they were—they were—there were all these noises and I saw _everything_ and—” He cuts himself off and shudders like he can’t think of anything more vulgar. For a fraction of a second, Esca doesn’t understand. 

But then he knows. And it puts a disgusting image in his head that he really didn’t need of two much old men, one his former master, which (other than Marcus) has never been something he likes to have in his head. At the same time, he sees the shake in Marcus’ hands, and he can’t help but laugh, because what a _stupid_ thing to start a fuss over. Granted, it’s none of his family members. He puts his hand to his mouth to stop his chuckle, but Marcus has already looked around at him. It occurs to him that Marcus didn’t seem to grasp the concept of a _body_ -slave, at least not with Esca, anyway, and Esca can’t help but snort, “Well, what did you _think_ body-slaves were for?”

Marcus makes a disgusted face and says, “I _didn’t_ think—well, not _that_ —not with my _uncle_ —and Stepheno’s for gods’ sake! I just can’t...” And he shivers again and shoots up to his feet, standing at the head of the bed, a big, gorgeous, fearless soldier without the stomach to accept a little elderly pleasure. As much as Esca adores this man, a small part of him can’t help but feel amusement at the Roman’s discomfort, even at times like this, when Marcus isn’t particularly _Roman_. And to think Esca used to think him the paragon of such things and nothing more.

“We should go hunting,” Marcus announces, by way of obvious distraction. “Yes. Hunting. Boars. We’ll do that.”

If Esca were a more docile lover, he’d concede and crawl out of bed. But he enjoys a good prod and winds up patting the mattress beside himself and teasing, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a little man-on-man time yourself? After all, surely you must hope we’ll end up that way, someday, rickety and grey but still feisty enough to roll around with one another on the floor—”

Marcus, blushing adorably and furiously, rips the sheets off the bed, exposing Esca’s legs to the cold air, but Esca’s still laughing as Marcus tosses it at him. Unlike Marcus, Esca hasn’t bothered to pull anything on since last night, and where the sight of his naked body would normally leave Marcus drooling and eager for more, now it backfires, and Marcus looks quickly away and shouts, “I’ll be at the horses!” He heads stubbornly for the door, while Esca chuckles and untangles the sheets from around himself.

Then he wraps himself up in them and settles back down to the mattress, knowing that when he doesn’t arrive, Marcus will feel foolish and slink back, willing to wait, instead, for Esca’s word. It leaves Esca to doze and daydream of light things like what their own future will be. Would that they have their own grand villa on the edge of a lake to cozy up in, grow old together, and make plenty of love on the floor.


End file.
